The police had come for them just after 6AM.
A shout went up, and some of the girls shrieked as the men jumped out of their vehicles and marched toward the tents, truncheons drawn.
A few put up a token struggle, but most went quietly.
They knew it was coming, of course.
Susie expected Megan to brief them on how to say nothing and wait to learn what, if any, evidence they had against them. But that was not part of the plan. Quite the opposite, in fact. Megan wanted a fuss. Court appearances would be maximised as an opportunity to shout at the press.
Initially, Susie was in a cell with Samantha and two other girls, but shortly after names were taken, they came for the other three and moved them elsewhere, leaving her alone.
“Stay strong,” Samantha had said as a constable led her away.
It was 10AM.
A bolt clunked on the other side of the door.
A spindly police sergeant appeared. He said nothing, but beckoned her with his finger.
Susie lifted herself from the bed and walked behind him past two other closed cell doors and out through a rear exit into the daylight.
She shielded her eyes from the bright sun.
In front of her was a small car park filled with police panda cars and a black Vauxhall saloon with dark windows.
The rear door was open, and the sergeant gestured her toward it.
She climbed into the back seat alongside a middle-aged man, clean-shaven and wearing a suit and tie.
The camera and rucksack sat on the seat next to him.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“You’re going back in there.” He picked up the rucksack and opened it, removing a thick wad of papers, including three brown paper files.
“Is this everything?” he said.
Susie looked at the folders and camera.
“Yes.”
“Are you sure? There was only one film and no prints.”
“That’s right, one film. I exposed it before he could develop it. There should have been some over-exposed prints?”
The man opened a cardboard box of photographic paper. She picked up the top three sheets, noticing the others were below a thin layer of brown paper.
“I think these are the attempts at developing the film.”
The man held them close to his face. “OK.”
Susie’s eyes went to the paperwork. Red ‘Top Secret’ stamps and the carefully written project name: GUIDING LIGHT.
The man produced a strange leather satchel with twisted metal wire running through a black clasp.
He inserted the folders, camera, film and the three over-exposed prints.
He showed her a box of cardboard sleeves containing the reels of magnetic tape.
“Is this all of them?”
“Looks about right.”
“You didn’t count them?”
“No. But I’m sure that’s it. Sampson took them all. None were left in the tent and they couldn’t be anywhere else.”
The man nodded. “The tents were searched. The plod found a bag of tools in the woods, but that was it. Still, if you didn’t count them, we can’t be a hundred per cent.”
“Where else would they be?”
“OK. But next time be more observant.”
“You have Sampson?”
“Yes.”
“What happens to everyone else? What happens to me?”
“It’s up to West Porton. I suspect they won’t want to press charges. They seem a little shy when it comes to publicity.” He paused. “But for now, you can go back to your cell.”
“Thanks. What next? I’m done here.”
He looked at her and shrugged. “Not my call, I’m afraid. Speak to your desk officer.” He looked her up and down. “I must say this is a first for me. And it’s true what they said, you are quite pretty.”
“Right.”
He fed the tapes into the pouch. It bulged, but he managed to seal it using the wires.
“Off you go. Shoo!” He motioned toward the door.
“Thanks. I’m not a cat. And no ‘well done’?” She climbed out.
“If you want to be told ‘well done’, become a nurse.”
The police sergeant looked expectantly at her.
“I need to go back to my cell. The same as everyone else, please.”
“Oh. OK.” He looked uncertain. “So, are we to be told what this is all about?”
Before Susie could answer, the man in the car called out,
“In here please, sergeant. I need you to make a delivery.”
“MARK, this is extremely serious. They will soon take it out of our hands.”
Group Captain Gilbert Periwinkle’s office was spacious. He spoke from behind his desk, leaving Kilton to pace the room. “We need to tell people what’s missing. Group for a start.”
“No,” Kilton snapped. “They don’t need to know. They don’t have the full picture, anyway.”
“What about the Ministry? And Blackton? At least let’s tell Ewan.”
“I’ll talk to Ewan. But we’ll lose the project if we lose confidence.”
“How can we be confident? You heard the police. They’ve found nothing at the site. Just some wire cutters. None of the material. For all we know it’s sitting on a newspaper editor’s desk, or halfway to Moscow by now.”
Periwinkle looked stern. “I’m just trying to be realistic here, Mark. I think you’re hoping for a miracle that won’t come. We’ve lost the material and we need to alert the proper authorities. We haven’t even told the police we’re missing anything. We can’t just pretend.”
Kilton slumped down at a chair against the back wall.
“The flimsy bloody cabinets. I told Johnson to beef them up.
What about a D-Notice?” he asked. “We need one. If the documents are in the hands of the press, we need to stop publication.”
“D-Notices are extremely hard to get, Mark. Telling newspapers they may not cover stories is not the politicians’ favourite pastime. I think this government in particular will be reluctant. Having said that, it would be a first step to inform the Ministry.”
“Not yet.” Kilton softened his tone. “Let’s be sure of what’s missing. I’ve got the men going through everything.”
“If we sit on this, it will only get worse for us.”
“Worse? How?”
The phone on Periwinkle’s desk rang.
The station commander picked it up and listened for a moment. “Yes. I see. Please escort him straight to my office.”
He hung up and looked at Kilton. “The police are here.”
Kilton stood up. “Remember, we tell them nothing.”
The door opened. A corporal ushered in a short police inspector. His hat was under one arm and in the other he clutched a large leather satchel.
“Officer, how can we help you?”
“Regards to the break-in you’ve had at the fence. You believe nothing was stolen?”
Periwinkle glanced at Kilton. “Well we can’t be a hundred per cent certain…”
“Right, only this has been passed to us, to pass to you.”
He put the satchel on the desk.
It had an elaborate seal with two loops of metal wire.
The station commander stood up and peered over his half-moon glasses.
“Looks like the old diplomatic pouches we used to take through civil airports. Do you know what’s in it?” he asked, looking up at the policeman.
“For your eyes only, was the instruction.”
“Who gave the instruction?” asked Kilton.
The policeman shuffled on his feet. “The gentleman worked for the government, is about all I can tell you.”
“Excuse me, inspector,” Kilton said, “if this is our property I think we deserve to know where it came from.”
“That’s the thing, sir, I don’t actually know. All I can tell you is that he worked for Her Majesty’s government. And he returned stolen material, which, he informed us, belongs to you.”